11:57 

матвей кайнер.
laughs but is really sad inside.
я немного проебался и меня здесь давно не было. но я принес новый околостих на английском и очень надеюсь, что это можно расценивать как активность, потому что на полноценную жизнь в интернете (да и в жизни) у меня нет вообще никаких сил. иногда я что-то вбрасываю в твич, можете найти меня , там, если оно вам надо. а еще у меня есть паблик со стихами, ссылка на него есть в эпиграфе или можете маякнуть мне где-нибудь и я поделюсь.




I heard about them being blind,
And I started to think how the hell did they end up
being blind. Did they get into an accident,
hit by the car that jumped
out behind the corner?
Or did they grow roses and injured themselves
with thorns? Little Prince promised to care,
but did he?

I heard about them reading in Brailleschrift,
so I bought myself a book
and a needle to make holes in pages with it.

I heard about them playing with fireworks,
and that made me suffer,
because really,
this could end up badly.

And them I met her.
She was one of them, but
she didn't, she was apart.
Broken.
Blind.
Deaf.

So I hummed songs in her collarbone, and
her body would respond to me with echo.
I felt like wolf, howling at the Moon
and I could never hear Moon's reply.

I touched her bruises and freckles,
and I said to her that
her melanin was the most beautiful part of her,
I hugged her auburn hair
and felt like burning alive inside it.
She touched my chest, her little fingers
typing words in Braille on it
and this was the first time
I was really into the idea of learning another language.

She was my mystery, my dream and
I chased her harder than Adele would ever chase pavements.
I whispered to the sound of her heart beating,
and she would hug me and mutter to me
whole paragraphs from 'Little Prince'.

I change in vows, and in devotion
but I would never
give away my affection
to her.

'The Ravens are rough today', she would say,
and I would laugh
because there is no soft way
of saying 'Kocham cie'.
The ravens are rough today, she says, which
probably would make Allan Poe proud of her.
Well, it made me
proud.

I whine in the evening
to a glass of wine,
because grape is made with blood and tears
and wine is made with ripping those apart.

We have never been whole.
Just a damage who found two parts of it
together
and
placed it together
like two human thumbs in a praying sign.

I never learned SL, you know.
When the woods would rumble away with joy,
and the cold steam would try to make the stones disappear,
I would
whisper
in the dark.

'I love you.
I love, I love
you'.
And that's it.

They leave as to the road we took
and they turned away their faces from us,
but, frankly, I don't care,
I don't care,
I don't care
as long as I have your face
in front of me
to stare at.

They are deaf, they are blind, and
they have left.

But you!
You have stayed
by my side,
you have joined me in this simple hope
to reach out
to nature
and stuck somewhere
near it.

We are the temple,
and even if sometimes you might feel forsaken,
you are the Rose
I took an oath for.
To protect and to care and to keep her forever safe
and to be here with her
and to chase her
wherever she goes.

Little Prince promised he would,
but did he?
Did he, really?

I don't know about him,
but I promised I would
and this promise
is something
I have an intention to keep.

Even if your thorns will bleed me to death,
I am here for you
and ever will be.

@темы: spoken word poetry, конфликт отцов и поколений всегда был развит у тюленей, литературщина, ноа купил себе маяк и остался там жить

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